Last Call For Alcohol
by Princess Alexandria
Summary: A friend of Jean's takes her out to drown her sorrows over Scott's affair, a slice of life fic. Original Character POV.


Last Call For Alcohol

By Princess Alexandria

"Last Call!" The voice yelled out as I was already unsteadily making my way to the door. I would have been moving better if I didn't have a drunk woman leaning on me. Sure she deserved a night out, but she didn't deserve the hangover she'd have tomorrow. I grimaced as she loudly yelled a goodbye to some men that had been flirting with her all night, my ear hurt from her yelling almost right into it.

"Jean, where too?" I asked as we made it to the door. We'd need a cab regardless because I wasn't all that sober either. I felt my excuse wasn't as good as hers. She found out her husband was cheating on her, and with a woman that lived at the mansion. I was a little off balance because I was jealous of all the flirting she did with the men around us, when it was me she said she wanted to go out with and have fun. I didn't find flirting with men fun, and she knew that.

Jean smiled at me and I sighed at the playful look in her eyes. I felt like a babysitter, perhaps I should have just had soda. "I say we go to the dance club. It's opened until four." Her words were slightly slurred and I shook my head.

"It's already late Jean. We're not teenagers anymore, I actually need some sleep." I whined a little and her smile faded. In college we'd have long nights, but it had been years since college and this was the first time since then that I'd stayed up until two, well the first time I'd done it in a bar since then.

"You're no fun." She muttered and I didn't bother to rise to it.

"No I'm not. I'm a boring old accountant, now how about we head back to my hotel room." I'd come from Chicago to visit her after she called crying, I'd done like I'd always done and came running like a lovesick puppy and I disgusted myself with it. Falling in love with a straight woman was painful, and I seemed to love that pain because the majority of my flights since college had been to New York.

I'd loved her for years, but she'd always been Scott's. Everyone loved Jean. I raised a hand to flag down a cab, as I pushed those thoughts out of my head. She was drunk, and her control had always been a little weaker drunk. She never meant to scan me, but drunk she might. Thinking about how painfully in love I was now wasn't a good idea.

And now I was taking her to my hotel room, the one I got so that we didn't have to be around Scott during my visit, and I pleaded to whatever gods existed that my alcohol laden mind would know better than to say something stupid and let her know I was hurting.

"Oh Fine." Jean spoke as the cab pulled up and I opened the door, holding it for her. She managed to get in and I followed her in. I gave the cabbie the directions, which weren't in Manhattan, and then turned to look out at the bar, which was. This would take a while.

"He LIED to me." Jean finally spoke after a few blocks of silence and I grimaced as I turned to face her. This wasn't the first time she'd said these words, as if they were the bigger betrayal. He lied, I thought it was pretty obvious that a cheating man would also be a liar, but apparently Jean didn't see it that way, or maybe focusing on the lying was less painful. I'd seen a picture of the woman that he cheated on Jean with, and she was gorgeous too. I'd also seen pictures of Betsy years ago, when his eyes were straying and Jean was upset. Yeah, being the shoulder to cry on was fucking terrific, I turned back to staring at the few people walking the streets of Manhattan at night while I let that bitterness overwhelm me.

I wanted to shake her and yell at her that he wasn't worth this, that everyone loved her and she didn't need a man that treated her like that, but instead I focused on the roads that we used to walk together during weekends and after finals. I moved away after college, and nights like this were the reason. I ran from her, I loved her, and I still come crawling back. Maybe it's me I should be shaking, trying to wake up. She's straight and she doesn't even know how much I wish she wasn't.

"Do you remember that weekend where we snuck into the bar, the time it was only a week until you'd be legal, and got caught?" Jean smiled a little at the memory and I gave her a small smile back. That night had be fun, we'd really lived that night, and that night I got my one and only kiss from her. A friendly peck that lasted a little too long because we'd been drinking. I see a theme here, I thought quietly, as I remembered her being mad at Scott that night too, just not this mad. I think he'd purchased an insulting present for her, one that showed no insight or thoughtfulness, if I remembered her tirade correctly. Still, it was only a little angry and she'd let it go to have fun.

"Of course." I responded to her question. "We ended up having to sneak into my parent's house because we'd spent all the cab fare."

"Yeah." Jean spoke in a distracted way, staring out at the street. "We slept on your old twin bed and then snuck back out in the morning so you wouldn't have to explain why we were too poor to afford a cab, and we caught the bus back to school. Had to transfer three times and got lost once."

"We still got there." I said while glancing at the cabbie, who was more interested in his music than us.

"Yeah." Jean muttered, clearly not interested in talking about it anymore. I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it once in support and I continued to hold it as we got onto the freeway. I wanted to kick Scott in the balls for this, for tossing away what I wanted, knowing I couldn't have it even now. Her love was limitless, but it was only a friendly love.

I remembered a few trips she'd taken to Chicago to see me after a painful breakup or two as well. Only my relationships were never as deep as hers had been, and she never knew the role she played in all those breakups. It had taken me a while to figure it out.

"Thank you for coming." Jean lifted my hand and traced the veins on the back of my hand with a finger, making me shiver a little. I didn't pull away as she pulled the hand up to innocently kiss it. "You're always there for me. I love you." And my eyes tears a little as I looked away, knowing what type of love it was. This was hell, but I'd always be there for her. It was my own private hell, and I'd acquired land here and was building a permanent house to dwell in.

Moving away had been a joke, because I never really left. I felt battered and weary as we drove on. Her playing with my hand was becoming just background noise, but then her lips caressed the back of it in a way that had tingles running up my spine. I turned to look at her and I watched as she caressed my hand with her lips, staring dumbly as I tried to make sense of it.

"Did I ever tell you that I dug up my grave once?" She was still holding my hand, this time in two of her own. "When everyone thought I was dead, I understood they needed that closure, but seeing it at the mansion haunted me, so I went out one night and I ripped the headstone apart and dug it up to prove I wasn't there." I stared with a lump in my throat remembering the pain I'd felt going to that funeral, how my heart felt shredded. "I found the box." She spoke and I closed my eyes in pain, knowing what box she was talking about. I'd buried a letter for her, the one I'd never had the nerve to write to her alive, and then she came back. I never thought about that letter again, because I was just so happy to have her back I forced myself to try and forget that time when she wasn't.

"That was years ago." My voice croaked, and I had to swallow to try and get it to sound normal.

"I know." She spoke so softly and I just stared into her face, trying to see what was going on in her mind. She'd known for years? Why mention it now, why ever mention it? "I do know." She repeated her words with a new meaning. She knew what I had written. "He was married within a year to my clone, and left her when I came back, but you… you were single that entire time weren't you? It wasn't until I married him that you…"

My eyes ached and I looked away.

"Are you and Steph doing okay?" She asked again. I'd said we were fine earlier that night, but I hesitated this time. The truth was that we were drifting apart, and it was a familiar situation. I didn't invite Steph to New York with me, because I wanted to have some time with Jean alone, and I fully expected to come home to an empty apartment when I got back. Steph was perceptive, and she could tell Jean was different than my other friends. She'd asked to come three times and been rather mad when I told her no.

Steph was no Jean, she had the red hair and that was where the similarities ended. Most of my lovers had something in common with Jean.

"Why don't you ever have a relationship that lasts more than a year?" She asked and I sighed, knowing that Jean wanted me to say it, Jean knew the answer now, had for years apparently, but now she wanted to hear me say it.

"What do you want?" My words were bitter, "To hear that I compare them all to you and they all fall short? Do you want to hear that I fell in love with you years ago and I haven't been okay since? I hurt, is that what you want to hear?" And I did hurt.

"What I wanted to hear was that you love me." Jean spoke softly and reached out to rest a finger over my lips to stop me from talking again and feeling her touching me I went silent. I needed to see what she'd do now, and I stared into her eyes, seeing them flicker around in thought. Even Jean didn't know what to do now, that became obvious to me as a moment stretched to two.

I pulled back when it because obvious to me that Jean was stuck, her own drunken mind unable to give her the solution to the scene she'd just pulled out of me. "It's okay." I muttered. "It's not your fault I fall hard and can't get up." I turned to stare out the window and Jean took my hand and squeezed it.

"I love you." Her words were soft, uncertain, and it was clearly a friendly love. I hurt.

"I know." I gave her a weak smile and went quiet as I watched the road pass us by. I wondered at the chances that Jean would even remember this conversation the next day.


End file.
